


You Let Me Do This To You (I Am An Exit)

by NotALemon



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types, Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Tyler Durden is a Real Person (Fight Club), Attempts to Write in Chuck Palahniuk's Style, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bruises, Calling Your Boyfriend "Psycho Boy" is a Type of Affection, Canon Timeline, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence, Established Relationship, It's Fight Club of Course Their Dynamic is Fucked, M/M, Marking, Mostly Book Lore but I Prefer Jack to Joe, Painful Sex, Pet Names, Pre-Jack Quitting His Job, Rough Sex, Seriously guys this is fucked up, The Narrator Cries, They Call This Love, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, this is not BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: “Do you like the way they look at you?”At work, people look at me from the corners of their eyes, trying not to stare. They look at me once, then again when they see my injuries. Whispers follow me, the wordsboyfriendandabusefollowing me while I walk. Sometimes, I regret letting people find out I was with Tyler in the first place. Sometimes, Iglowwhen I hear their words. Yes, I have a boyfriend. Yes, he hits me. Yes, I love it.Yes, I breathe. Yes, Tyler.“Why?”I shake my head, not knowing how to say it.“Do you like that they know I hurt you?” Tyler touches the side of my face, almost tender. The lines of cigarette burns on his forearm look at me like burnt-out eyes. “Look at psycho boy. His boyfriend gives him black eyes and bloody noses instead of kisses.”
Relationships: Tyler Durden/Narrator
Kudos: 68





	You Let Me Do This To You (I Am An Exit)

When looking at Tyler Durden, you’d never think _this man loves to spoon_ , unlike how you look at Tyler Durden and think _this man is a god_. But Tyler Durden likes to spoon, despite his bruised face and chipped teeth. Tyler Durden loves to spoon, especially after he’s finished riding my cock. Tyler Durden loves to be the little spoon.

He’s nestled in my arms like a Russian doll. The shit of the world stops for the moments Tyler rests there, sticking his back to my front with our sweat and semen that will cement us together later. There’s a dull ache in my ass from his cock.

“The reason we fall asleep after sex is because it tricks our brains into thinking we’re safe,” Tyler drones in his cough-syrup voice. He blows out cigarette smoke. “Do you feel safe?”

I’m hesitant to answer out of fear what will happen next. 

If we’re not, I think you can protect us, Tyler, I joke. My lip tingles from where he’d split it back open.

Tyler rolls over so our faces are nearly touching. My nose is still tender from when someone broke it during a fight club. Tyler could crush it with his hand like a baby bird. “I didn’t ask if we _were_ safe. I asked if you _felt_ safe. Do you feel safe?” His eyes burn into mine. His cigarette burns next to my face. 

I-- Tyler, what’s this about? I ask.

“Do. You. Feel. Safe?”

I blink. I-- yes, Tyler, I say, I feel safe. Jesus.

Tyler glares at me, then slams our mouths together. His nose touches mine. It tingles like copper wire.

Jesus, Tyler! I shriek. You chipped my--

“Shut up.” Tyler pulls me closer. I didn’t know if I could go again so soon. Tyler’s sex drive is nearly insatiable. He climbs on top of me and pins me down like a butterfly on display, sucking hickeys like bruises on my neck and chest. He’s already marked me up so everyone can see it when I take my shirt off in fight clubs. _He’s **my** psycho. Back off_, they say. 

Tyler, fuck, I hiss.

I swallow down moans the same way I swallow down Tyler’s cock.

“That’s the point, shitbrains.”

If you’d asked me if I wanted to have someone who calls me shitbrains fuck me so thoroughly that I can’t walk right sometimes a year ago, I'd have said no, but Tyler makes that decision for me. I might be the one to tie his ties and the one who acts as a big spoon and the one whose cock he rides to the point of exhaustion, but Tyler gets to make all the big decisions for me. Picks out which white shirt and tie I’ll wear, tells me what to say, tells me what to do, cuts my hair, covers me in hickeys and bruises and blood. Tyler can make anyone do what he wants to, but only I get to be his sex puppet. 

“Do you know what they say about you at work?” Tyler asks, his cigarette sticking from his pretty fingers. I want them down my throat. “Do they think your boyfriend hits you?”

He does, I say. You hit me, Tyler.

Tyler bites down on my lip again. Metallic blood spills into my mouth. I moan. Tyler’s mouth tastes like smoke and blood. “Do you tell them your boyfriend hits you?”

Jesus, Tyler, I say, do you want me to be known as the guy with the abusive boyfriend?

“I hit you. Do you _tell them_ I hit you, or do you lie to them?” Tyler grabs my hair and yanks on it so hard I think of scalping and sex at the same time. “Do they know you beg for me to hit you? Do they know you hit me back?”

I don’t tell them anything. They don't deserve to know more about Tyler than they already do. I've politely answered their questions. Yes, I have a boyfriend. Yes, his name is Tyler Durden. Yes, we live together. Just the socially-accepted answers to the socially-acceptable questions. They look at my bruises now in horror.

“Are you embarrassed by me?” Tyler’s moved on to holding my face in his hand, spread over my jaw. “Or are you embarrassed by having a boyfriend?”

I’m not embarrassed by you, Tyler, I say. They know I have a boyfriend. They know he hits me. Is that what you want to hear, Tyler?

Tyler lets go of my jaw to smack me across the face. It stings. I don’t even react anymore. “You should take me in, sometime. When they hold some sort of company picnic or some other fucking corporate bullshit. Give me a big, beautiful black eye, and I’ll break your nose.” 

Jesus, he sounds like he’s getting off on this shit. 

I am, too.

“What would your boss think? When you and your boyfriend have matching black eyes?” Tyler traces his fingers along the hand-shaped bruises on my neck. He’d choked me until I almost passed out yesterday.

My boss has asked me if the blood is my blood before. My boss has asked me if I wanted him to call someone before. My boss has asked me if everything is okay at home before.

I don’t know, Tyler, I say.

Tyler smacks me again. “ _Answer me_ ,” he demands. 

I’m getting hard again. I’m getting hard from Tyler Durden smacking me around.

A year ago, this would’ve disgusted me. I’d gone to gay bars a couple times before and seen those types of gay couples who were covered in bruises and hickies and told myself I would never be one of _those guys_ who lets his boyfriend completely own him. 

Tyler ruined me the same way we’re ruining the world with pollution. I let him do it every night. He's my exit from the monotony of the world. My destruction is my exit.

Jesus.

He’d think we were fucked up, I say. More fucked up than he already thinks I am.

“Are you?”

Am I?

My boyfriend and I beat each other up every weekend in our club. Then, after that, we go back to his shitty house and fuck for the rest of the night. I straighten his tie in the morning. He chokes me out with mine in the night. We share a bed only because he likes to fuck me awake when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Sometimes he looks me in the eyes and begs me to fuck him until he passes out and keep going until I finished.

That's pretty fucked up.

“What do you think, psycho boy?” Tyler takes a drag from his cigarettes. 

We’re both fucked up, I say. 

Tyler lays his fingers back on the bruises on my hips. Like the hole in my cheek, they never go away. His cigarette burns close to my skin. “Do you like the way they look at you?”

At work, people look at me from the corners of their eyes, trying not to stare. They look at me once, then again when they see my injuries. Whispers follow me, the words _boyfriend_ and _abuse_ following me while I walk. Sometimes, I regret letting people find out I was with Tyler in the first place. Sometimes, I _glow_ when I hear their words. Yes, I have a boyfriend. Yes, he hits me. Yes, I love it.

Yes, I say, yes, Tyler.

“Why?”

I shake my head, not knowing how to say it.

“Do you like that they know I hurt you?” Tyler touches the side of my face, almost tender. The lines of cigarette burns on his forearm look at me like burnt-out eyes. “'Look at psycho boy. His boyfriend gives him black eyes and bloody noses instead of kisses.'”

What does the other guy look like? I joke, weakly.

“How _do_ I look?”

I look at Tyler. His face is just as battered as mine. Bruised skin, chipped teeth, and the cigarette burns up his arm. He’s still ridiculously handsome, even though he looks like he’s been fed through a meat grinder. 

Pretty, I say. You're so pretty, Tyler.

I think part of why I called Tyler the night he blew up my condo was because he was beautiful.

Tyler ruffles my hair. I’d grown it out a little since I found out he liked messing with it. Ruffling. Petting. Pulling. 

“Aren’t you sweet.” Tyler takes another drag from his cigarette and rests his hand on my hip, over the bruises from his fingers and round burn scars. 

I take the cigarette from between his fingers and smoke it.

“Taking my things?” Tyler teases. 

What are you gonna do about it? I ask.

Jesus, I sound like a rebellious teenage stepchild in a late-night porno. You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my real dad. Fuck the rebellion out of me.

What have you done to me, Tyler?

Tyler takes the cigarette back from me. He blows the smoke in my face. “Looks like I have to teach you another lesson. Wonder what they’ll say on Monday, huh? When you show up looking like you got hit by a truck?” 

Christ, Tyler. What are you gonna do to me?

He takes the cigarette and puts it out on my hip, next to the collection he’s given me. I hiss in pain, but it’s nothing. My body is a mottled mess of blacks and purples and fight-hardened muscles. For some reason, Tyler finds me uncontrollably fuckable. He calls me beautiful while he fucks himself on my dick. He kisses my mangled body while he fucks into me. He whispers sweet nothings into my ear after we’re so fucked out I can’t talk.

Tyler grins at me the same way I imagine God does when He creates a tsunami that kills thousands. 

Tyler smacks me again, hard enough my head snaps in reaction. Whiplash. 

Tyler wraps a hand around my throat, cutting off my breath supply. 

Tyler climbs on top of me. He straddles my waist. He’s naked as I am, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

Tyler, I manage, pressing up against him. I’m hard already. It’s fucked up for me to get hard for him as fast as I do. 

Tyler straddles my hips and watches me like a disinterested student during a lecture. I feel like a high school science experiment. He’s cutting me open like a formaldehyde-soaked frog and poking around at my innards. 

“Good boy,” Tyler coos, while my vision blacks out at the edges. “My good, good boy.”

 _Tyler_ , I try to say, gurgling. My eyes flutter shut.

“Do you like it?” Tyler tightens his hand around my throat. 

I nod and try to choke out a _yes_.

“When you pass out, I’m gonna have fun with you.” Tyler sounds far away and echoey, face already beginning to blacken out.

I wonder if he can feel my heartbeat flutter against his palm. It’d be easy for him to kill me. I give him the power to kill me, and he can, if he wants. Maybe he’d fuck my corpse.

Maybe I'd like it.

I used to be a normal person. I did. It's a shame, what's happened to me.

Tyler lets go of my throat. I gasp for air. He punches my stomach, knocking the air from me. I can’t even curl up on myself. Tyler’s still on top of me.

I still can’t fucking breathe.

“You’re more fun when you fight back, baby boy,” Tyler taunts. He takes my hand, the one marked with his kiss, and kisses over the scar. “Do you remember when I gave this to you? How you screamed and cried?”

I nod.

“Answer me.”

I say, Yes, Tyler.

“Maybe I should give you some more. You look so pretty, psycho boy. Imagine how you’d look covered in my love.” Tyler gives me a smile that might be goofy if he wasn’t threatening to cover me in chemical burns. 

My heart beats faster. The burn had hurt like hell, been the worst pain I’d ever been through.

“You get off to this?” Tyler smacks my face again. “You think this is _arousing_? You’re fucked up.”

I open my mouth to reply that we’re _both_ fucked up, but Tyler already knows what I’m about to say.

Tyler smacks me with the other hand. “Don’t get smart with me now.”

Tyler, I rasp.

Tyler takes my hips in his hands, holding me so tight I’m scared he’s going to crack my bones. He lines himself up with my hole, still stretched out from when he’d fucked me earlier, and pushes in. It burns. Tyler doesn’t care. He starts fucking me. 

Jesus! I yelp.

Tyler smacks me again. I’m getting a little lightheaded from all the smacking.

Tyler!

Tyler smiles at me. “There you go.” He takes my face in one of his hands, holding my jaw tight, and slams my head against the wall. I moan. “I bet you’d like that. Slut.”

Oh God.

Tyler slams my head into the wall again, plaster raining down on me. Tyler doesn't care. I don't care. 

Fuck! Tyler! I scream. 

“Who do you belong to?” Tyler doesn’t give me any time to answer before my head connects to the wall again. The world spins. Tyler’s hand is the only thing connecting my head to the real world. I hardly feel him fucking in and out of me like a train piston. If his bed had a headboard, it would be slamming against the wall like my head is. 

You! You, Tyler! I shriek.

Tyler takes his other hand off my hip and grabs my face with both hands to kiss me. Tyler kisses like he’s on death row and I’m a can of room temperature Spaghetti-O’s. My head still swims. Tyler’s blurred around the edges. 

“And what do you say, when people ask you about your face?”

No one asks me about my face. Not anymore.

You did it, I say.

Tears burn like acid at my eyes. My whole body aches. It always does.

“ _Who_ do you say did it?”

My boyfriend! Tyler Durden!

“And what does your boyfriend do? How does he treat his precious little psycho boy?” Tyler slams his hips against mine. Jesus, he really _is_ going to break me some day. Snap my hips in half. Like I’ve given birth. 

Hits me, Tyler. He destroys me. Every night. 

I throw my head back. 

Tyler presses his sweat-soaked face against mine. Our skin slides together. It’ll stick, if he keeps his face there. “Do you like it?” he snarls.

I love it! 

“Good.” Tyler claws his hands down my sides. His nails are too short to do any real damage, but he still tries to claw me open. He pulls his face from mine. “I love making you my bitch.”

Yes! I’m your-- Tyler!

I arch my back up into Tyler. 

He smacks my face again, hard. “My bitch,” he says. 

I am Jack's world-ending orgasm.

“Look at you, psycho boy. Coming before I let you.” Tyler bares his teeth at me. “Pathetic.”

Tyler, I breathe, melting into Tyler’s mattress. Tyler.

Tyler continues using my body to get off. When I tell Tyler it hurts, he grins and fucks into me harder. I start crying. It’s merciful, when he stops. When he fills me with hot, hot semen. Like a human Twinkie.

You've done it, Tyler. You've destroyed me. You've destroyed my ass. You've destroyed my interest in normal sex.

I am Jack's self-disgust.

He lays on top of me. My stomach’s covered in my own cum. I’m glazed like a goddamn jelly donut. Not to give Tyler ideas.

“Do you love me, psycho boy?”

I ache all over. My head still pounds from when Tyler slammed it into the wall. My hips hurt from it. My face stings from him smacking me. My face is wet with tears. Tyler’s dick is still in me, soft and limp like a corpse’s.

Yes, Tyler, I say. I love you.

Tyler leans down and claims my mouth again. I grab his hair and arch up into it. I’m just as hungry for Tyler as he is for me. 

“So when someone asks you where your bruises came from, you say--?”

They’re presents from my boyfriend, I say. From Tyler. From you.

Tyler smiles down at me and gives me a kiss, too gentle for what he’d just done to me. “Good boy.”

Then he lays on his side and coaxes me to cling to his back. I

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone abusing your significant other in any way. This is fiction and should not be taken as a guide with which to live your life.
> 
> Title from "Mr. Self Destruct" by Nine Inch Nails.


End file.
